


if you let it be something

by zcinmalik



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Art History, Artist Zayn, Bullying, Embarrassment, Fluff, Gryffindor Liam, Hogsmeade, Hufflepuff Harry, Hufflepuff Niall, Inter-House Friendships, Inter-House Relationships, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magical Accidents, Muggle Culture, Muggle Technology, Muggle-born Niall, Mutual Pining, Niall Horan & Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Pining Niall, Pining Zayn, Potions, Potions Accident, Protective Niall, Ravenclaw Zayn, Self-Esteem Issues, Slytherin Louis, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/pseuds/zcinmalik
Summary: “The only reason–” George suddenly can’t contain his laughter and needs to take a moment to collect himself. He doubles over for a few long seconds, then straightens up again to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye before continuing. “Oh, lad. The only reason that potion would cause someone to nearly propose marriage is if they were already embarrassingly in love with you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrangerTomlinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerTomlinson/gifts).



> Written for the Potter Direction Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy it, StrangerTomlinson! 
> 
> Thanks so much to [Alex](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/) for the wonderful beta!

Niall doesn’t realize that he’s accidentally stirred his potion clockwise instead of counterclockwise until it begins emitting white-hot sparks, one of which flies up and burns the hell out of his arm.

He can’t help it—he shrieks, an embarrassingly shrill sound that drowns out the usual noises of the potions room and manages to echo against its walls. Before anyone has had the chance to do more than look around to see the source of the sound, he seizes the area of the burn with his left hand and begins swearing in the most foul language he knows. Since he’s Muggle-born, he’s got a very wide range of selection.

“Mister Horan!” the professor chides, sweeping his failed potion away with an arc of her wand. “That is enough. To the hospital wing.”

 

* * *

 

Niall is just barely able to make it to the Great Hall before dinner is finished. He skids in, his arm wrapped in a precautionary bandage despite its magical recovery from the burn, and sighs with relief when a perfect platter of food is conveniently laid out right before his usual spot.

Of course, Niall thinks as Louis promptly drops down opposite him as soon as he’s settled, he should have anticipated that it was a trap of some sort.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Niall says, or at least tries to through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. What comes out sounds more like, “Ayeohuhuhaahouet.”

“Too bad,” Louis snaps. “This is an intervention.”

Sure enough, a reluctant-looking Liam scoots over from where he was sitting to take the spot next to Niall.

Niall swallows a second bite before he suggests, “Hogwarts should go back to seating us by house for meals.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Louis says, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Because then we wouldn’t be around to keep you from choking yourself to death while you were too busy staring at Styles to chew your damn food.”

“That happened _once_!” Niall protests.

But by the looks on their faces (respectively, annoyed and pitying), Niall knows that Louis and Liam both saw what led up to him burning himself today. He tries hard to focus in class, he really does. But when the back of Harry Styles’ head is right there, just a few feet in front of him, bent studiously over his cauldron… Niall tends to get distracted.

He sighs and buries his face in his hands, an elbow just barely missing knocking over his goblet.

“You are going to do something about this crush,” Louis announces. “You are going to do it tomorrow. You are either going to start dating Harry Styles or I am never, ever going to hear his name again.”

“What Louis means,” Liam interjects, shooting Louis a look. “Is that we really think it’s time you talked with him. Just tell him how you feel. If it doesn’t go well, you can move on, and if it does, then everything will be great, won’t it?”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say,” Niall says into his hands. Liam leans closer to hear him better. “Gryffindor, of course you’d say that.”

“ _I’m_ not a Gryffindor,” Louis says loudly. “And I’ve had more of this than I can stand.  _Years_ of it! You burned yourself over it today alone!”

Niall glances up. For all his pretend complaining about the open seating arrangements, he’s grateful that despite being a fellow Hufflepuff, Harry always sits at the table on the opposite side of the hall. Otherwise, Louis’ complaining about Niall’s crush would’ve reached the wrong ears ages ago.

As if summoned to by Niall’s thoughts, Harry stands from his seat and begins walking with long, loping strides out of the hall. He’s accompanied by his best friend Zayn, who Niall doesn’t really know but is always jealous of for the attention that he gets from Harry. Niall sighs longingly by instinct, taking in the familiar sight of Harry looking beautiful from a distance. Then his arm twinges, and he remembers exactly how much that burn had hurt.

He glances back at his friends. They’re staring at him with incredulous expressions, which Niall is used to seeing from Louis, but which is an indication of true problems when coming from Liam.

“I think I’m going to have to do something,” Niall says.

 

* * *

 

Niall goes to Hogsmeade alone as early as he can the next morning. He’s not proud of what’s about to happen. In fact, just the thought of the disappointed face that Liam would give him nearly has Niall turning around. But something needs to be done.

Niall isn’t a fool. He knows he has no chance with Harry Styles, nevermind what his friends have to say about it. There is no way that gorgeous, perfect, pure-blood Harry is going to end up with a Muggle-born. Niall doesn’t care what anyone claims about reforms and blood status, and he doesn’t care how open-minded Harry seems. It’s not going to happen. Niall doesn’t need to remember his first year, being a lowly mudblood Hufflepuff and knowing it by how he got treated by the older students every single day, to know how these things work.

The only thing for it is to get Harry out of his system. Niall needs to move on, and there’s only one way he can think of to do it.

The shop is blessedly empty when he walks in, save for the wizard at the counter. He’s tall and surprisingly broad, at least more so than Niall had envisioned. He looks up from a mug of coffee to meet Niall’s eyes, giving him a shrewd once-over before straightening up.

“Let me guess,” George Weasley says. “Puking Pastilles. Got an exam coming up?”

Niall tries very hard not to stare at the ear. He’s been in here before, of course, but never this early and never when George Weasley himself was manning the counter.

Niall coughs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Love potion.”

“Ahh,” Weasley says, a fond smile coming over his face.

“Only a– only a short one,” Niall says quickly. “He doesn’t know me, okay? And I– I don’t want the potion to…”

 _Christ_ , he thinks. What is he _doing_?

Weasley must recognize something in his expression, because he walks out from behind the counter and toward a bright pink shelf.

“The timing, now that’s a bit tricky,” he says, and he sounds so professional that Niall thinks he could be talking about a car or something. “All depends on personal variables. Their metabolism, your–” he glances behind him to give Niall another appraising look. “Well, you’re a handsome young lad.”

Niall looks over the shelf that Weasley has come to a stop in front of. There are different price labels on different bottles, and he realizes that it hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder how much this was going to cost. Nevertheless, he gives Weasley a quick physical description of Harry when Weasley insists on it as he rifles through potions.

“As to what you _don’t_ want it to do,” Weasley says over his shoulder. “None of this is Amortentia, all right? Nothing to cause kissing or touching of any sort, much less sex. We’ve never sold that here.”

Niall does feel undeniable relief at that, but the Liam voice inside his head is still protesting rather strongly.

“What will work best for you is likely this little beauty.” Weasley plucks a tiny purple vial from the back of the top shelf. “Preoccupation, infatuation, enough to make someone think of you where they wouldn’t before.”

Infatuation. Enough to make Harry willing to have a private conversation with Niall. To say his name, even. Niall envisions it: them standing alone somewhere, Harry smiling at him, the sunlight in Harry’s hair. Harry saying his name. The fulfillment of as much of a fantasy as Niall has any right to. One last indulgence in that fantasy before he can finally let it go and move on.

The best part is that Harry never needs to know. Niall won’t make any ridiculous confessions or anything like that; he’ll just savor one innocent, private conversation, up close and personal. When Harry comes back to himself, he’ll simply think that it was on a whim that he felt compelled to talk to a fellow Hufflepuff he rarely otherwise interacts with.

Weasley is looking at Niall. “Am I right? That’s what you want?”

Niall takes a last glance at the potion in Weasley’s hand. He begins digging galleons out of his pocket.

“That’s what I want.”

 

* * *

 

No more than twelve hours. That was how long Weasley had told him it would last. Niall has been careful to measure everything out properly, dropping a single hair from his head into the potion right before baking it into a cupcake.

Friendly as he is with the house elves of the castle, it’s nothing at all to ask one to deliver the sweet to Harry. From there, Niall has only to wait– his stomach in knots– around the corner from where the delivery is to happen early the next morning.

Crowds rush from all the different common rooms toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Students’ voices loudly echo off of the stone walls, and younger and older kids alike can be seen yawning as they trudge along to eat before their classes.

Thankfully, as Niall had hoped, Harry is a bit late and thus just behind the majority of the crowd. Veer the house elf promptly intercepts him before he makes it to the doors, holding the perfectly frosted cupcake aloft in offering.

“For you,” Veer says. “From a secret admirer.”

Harry beams in surprise and thanks Veer, taking the cupcake from him gently. Niall realizes that he’s holding his breath, but can’t bring himself to try exhaling. Veer turns on his heel and makes his way into the Great Hall himself.

Harry is looking down at the cupcake with great interest, inspecting it carefully but looking nowhere near eating it yet.

 _What is he waiting for?_ Niall thinks desperately.

The answer becomes all too apparent as Harry’s friend Zayn tiredly stumbles down a nearby set of stairs that Niall recognizes as the bottom of the Ravenclaw tower.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Harry chirps. Zayn rubs a hand over his face and mumbles something vaguely annoyed-sounding in reply.

Niall watches them, his head barely sticking out from behind the corner he’s hiding around. To his astonished horror, Harry holds the cupcake out for Zayn.

“Someone delivered this to me and must’ve meant for me to give it to the birthday boy!” he says. “From a secret admirer,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

Zayn levels an unimpressed look at Harry.

“’S too early for sweets,” he says in the face of Harry’s unabated smile. “And if they said it was for you, then it’s probably for you, you great–”

 _Yes, thank God someone has reason_. Niall actually does breathe now, his heart still racing in his chest from the scare.

Harry shakes his head.

“Veer gave it to me and someone else must’ve given it to him. It’s only too easy for the message to get lost in translation. I’m sure that your secret admirer meant for me to be the second go-between, to be sure that you didn’t discover their identity.”

Zayn has been halfheartedly straightening his tie, but shakes his head in exasperation at this. Before he can protest though, Harry continues on.

“And besides,” Harry says, voice overly clear as if speaking to a child. “Why would someone give _me_ a cupcake on _your_ birthday?”

Niall momentarily considers running from the castle and throwing himself into the lake. He could live down there for some time before drowning, he’s sure.

Zayn rolls his eyes, a gesture that’s clearly well-practiced in the context of his relationship with Harry. Harry simply holds the cupcake out toward him, imperious in his unspoken demand.

A long, agonizingly endless moment stretches out. Niall is frozen in place, moving is impossible, doing anything is impossible, and all he wants to do is just scream out a protest or a spell or something, but all he can bring himself to do is stare unblinkingly.

Zayn reaches out, takes the cupcake, and brings it to his perfect lips. He bites in, and in that moment, Niall swears, he almost faints.

The moment is shattered when Harry claps a hand on Zayn’s shoulder approvingly and steers him into the Great Hall. All the while, Zayn is continuing to eat the cupcake, going in for a second and third bite after he moans with pleasure at the initial taste.

Niall turns around and allows himself to sink against the wall he had been using as a hiding spot.

 _It’s fine_ , he tries to tell himself. _It’s fine. It’s going to be fine._

The potion barely does anything. Preoccupation. Infatuation. Enough to make the drinker feel compelled to have an innocent conversation, and nothing more. Zayn won’t notice anything except that he randomly decided to seek out Niall because for whatever reason, he found himself thinking of the boy.

Niall takes a deep, unsteady breath. It’s fine.

 

* * *

 

Niall is still too nervous and shaken from the mishap to eat breakfast, so he instead makes his way to Charms class early. He manages to make it through the lesson without getting too distracted, even performing a semi-successful bubble head charm at one point.

Now that he’s had some time to calm down, he’s feeling much better. He doesn’t know why he was so worried—what could possibly happen? The potion is harmless.

In fact, he actually feels a sense of relief when his pathway to lunch in the Great Hall is cut off by Zayn, who has clearly been standing here waiting for him. Best to get this out of the way.

“Niall,” Zayn says, his voice quite bright and beautiful despite the sounds of loud students walking past them. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure,” Niall says, and gives him a reassuring smile. “Let’s go–”

“Good idea, into the Great Hall,” Zayn says. People are starting to stare a bit, even as they pass the boys obstructing the hallway.

“Um,” Niall replies. “Okay?”

Before he’s even finished saying the word, Zayn has taken Niall’s left hand in his own and started leading him through the doors and into the hall.

Almost everyone has already started to eat. The professors at the head table are chatting amongst themselves as the students talk and argue and finish last-minute homework assignments. The hall is as loud as ever, which is frankly deafening, and Niall supposes, now that he thinks about it, that this might be a better place for a private conversation than any quiet, out-of-the-way location.

But Zayn doesn’t turn to begin talking with Niall at all. Instead he lifts his wand to his throat, casts an amplifying charm, and begins addressing the entire hall.

“Excuse me,” he says, and everyone immediately turns to see who’s speaking. Murmurs continue for a moment, but soon die down. “I have something I need to say.”

Niall stares at Zayn, completely perplexed. He has no idea what on earth Zayn could be doing.

“Niall Horan is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met,” Zayn says, his voice as sweet and sincere as if he were talking about a spouse of fifty years. “Everything about him is beautiful. His existence alone could brighten a thousand starless nights. I love him so deeply I can– honestly, I can hardly breathe for it.”

About three-fourths of the hall bursts into laughter and giggles at this, some of it excited but some of it clearly malicious. Niall feels like his heart has stopped. He’s staring at Zayn dumbly, his mouth open in horror.

Zayn turns to look at him, his voice still amplified over their audience.

“I can’t pretend any longer,” Zayn says, and he seems oblivious to Niall’s complete petrification. His eyes are soft and affectionate. He waves his wand and suddenly a shower of silver sparks fall around them gently, and from above, two conjured doves lower down with a crown of daisies held between their beaks. Niall is still frozen, screaming at himself internally to _move_ or  _do something_ or– 

Nothing. The flowers land lightly in Niall’s hair, and almost all of the students (and, Niall will reflect when he looks back on this memory, at least a couple of the faculty) are screaming with laughter at this point, and Zayn is suddenly– 

Zayn is suddenly moving, as if to drop to one knee.

“NO!” Niall shouts, his voice finally clawing its way out of his throat.

As if his command were magical, Zayn stops before his knee touches the ground. He stumbles at the sudden movement, but then begins blinking and looking around himself. He slowly stands and looks out at the sea of faces. He looks up at the conjurations still surrounding them. He looks, his eyes dazed, at Niall.

Niall stares back, but before he can bring himself to say anything– what in the world could he say?– Zayn is suddenly bolting through the enormous doors and out of the hall.

 

* * *

 

Niall can do nothing but sheepishly remove the crown from his head and follow Zayn’s lead. It’s only been a moment, and no teacher has had the chance to do more than rise out of their seat, but by the time Niall leaves the hall, Zayn is nowhere to be seen. _Thank God for that._

He sprints out of the castle. Students aren’t supposed to go to Hogsmeade during weekdays, but then again _students also aren’t supposed to poison each other with corrupt love potions that were meant for someone else, now are they_ , Niall thinks hysterically.

When he bursts into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, Ron Weasley is chatting amicably with a few older witches at the counter. They all stop talking and stare at Niall, who’s gasping for breath, sweat running down his face and into the collar of his heavy robes, a now-slightly wilted crown of daisies clutched in his hand.

“Your brother,” Niall heaves. “Sold me– Amortentia–  _bastard_ – and–”

Ron holds up two hands as if to appease a wild beast. “I’ll just… go get him for you. Right?”

Niall can only nod. Less than a minute later (during the course of which the elderly women try to pretend not to be staring at Niall), George is led out from the back of the shop by Ron.

“What’s this about Amortentia?” George says. “I told you, lad, it was pretty much the tamest little potion we had. More like an affection potion than a–”

“He confessed that he was in love with me in front of the entire school!” Niall says, irate the more he thinks about it. “He said I could brighten starless nights! He conjured doves and gave me _this_ –” He shakes the crown wildly, a few white petals drifting to the floor. “And I swear he started to drop to one knee before the damn thing wore off!”

George crosses his arms over his chest. Ron and his friends are staring at them with extreme interest.

“That’s impossible,” George says. “Couldn’t happen. Now either you gave your boyfriend the wrong potion, or–”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Niall bursts out. “I gave the stupid thing to the wrong boy in the first place!”

“Well… why didn’t you say so?” George says, his arms falling to his side immediately and a hint of laughter suddenly coloring his voice. “I’ll bet the boy you gave it to is small, isn’t he?”

Niall stares.

“That’s a yes,” George says, a broad grin stretching out over his face. “So you gave a potion that was designed for a taller body type to some new boy and then it backfired. What did you expect?”

At this, Niall recovers. “The tamest little potion you had, hmm? An _affection_ potion, yeah? What I expected was that it would barely do anything, which is what you said was going to happen!”

“I can’t account for all the variables that change when you target someone new,” George replies, amused. “You told me that the boy didn’t even know who the hell you were, and you told me that he was tall and broad. Then you went and, apparently, gave the potion to some skinny-arse boy who’s madly in love with you.”

Niall throws his arms out dramatically and looks incredulously from George to Ron to the innocent bystanders and back again.

“Excuse me?! When did you decide that Zayn is in love with me?” he cries. “You do realize that he only said he was because I gave him the love potion _you_ sold me?”

“The only reason–” George suddenly can’t contain his laughter and needs to take a moment to collect himself. He doubles over for a few long seconds, then straightens up again to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye before continuing. “Oh, lad. The only reason that potion would cause someone to nearly propose marriage is if they were already embarrassingly in love with you.”

 

* * *

 

Zayn is buried under every blanket he owns, the curtains drawn tightly around his bed, when he hears the dormitory door open. At first he assumes it’s one of his roommates and is unconcerned—they know by now to leave him alone when he’s fortressed up like this.

That’s why it’s a highly rude and unexpected awakening when someone throws the curtains back dramatically, letting the afternoon light from the windows filter in to Zayn’s bed-sanctuary.

Zayn sits bolt upright, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes and trying to untangle himself from his blankets. Before he can open his mouth to begin shouting at whoever is disturbing him, Harry Styles is talking at him.

“ _What_ in Merlin’s name happened?” he demands, looming over Zayn with his arms still outstretched and gripping the sides of the curtains. He’s never looked more like a scandalized Victorian.

“Who the _hell_ let you in here?” Zayn counters, drawing himself up, his ankles still a bit caught up in his bedding.

Harry doesn’t deign to respond, instead staring at Zayn expectantly.

“Ugh,” Zayn says, after an agonizing period of silence in which Harry refuses to say anything else. “Just go away, Haz. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry lowers himself to sit at the foot of Zayn’s bed. Zayn considers how much trouble he would get into if he hexed his best friend.

“I mean, I know I’ve been telling you that you should just tell Niall how you feel,” Harry drawls out thoughtfully. “But I thought you might do it… in private? Or maybe not… say quite so much right away?”

Harry, of all the people in the world, is telling Zayn that he overshared his emotions. Zayn lies back down, flips onto his stomach, and buries his face in a pillow.

Nothing else that has ever happened in his life has been anywhere near as humiliating as this day. Zayn doesn’t know how he’ll ever leave his bed, much less face anyone else in the entire castle. Because it really was the entire castle in front of which he managed to irrevocably shame himself. He can’t stop reliving the complete horror on Niall’s face. He buries his face even further into the pillow, hoping he might suffocate himself.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Harry is continuing. “I thought it was brilliantly romantic. I’m not going to lie, you made me cry a bit near the end there. But it just didn’t seem very… like you, you know? Like, if I didn’t know better, I might think you’d been enchanted or something.”

Zayn huffs into his pillow, though he thinks the same. He _didn’t_ feel like himself, doing all those things. Being jolted out of it by Niall’s shouting had certainly felt like coming out of some sort of spell. But he hadn’t been enchanted, to his knowledge. And besides, Harry is always making up elaborate stories like this: Zayn had been spelled to make a complete fool of himself just like he had a secret admirer who had–

For the second time, Zayn goes bolt upright, though this time it’s more of a scramble as he attempts to launch himself out of bed despite still being wrapped up in half a dozen blankets. He trips up and rolls over the side of the bed, falling into the partly-open curtain, and landing on the floor in a heap. Harry leans over the side to look down at him in confusion.

“The cupcake!” Zayn says, impatiently tugging himself out of the mess of fabrics. “That damn cupcake from this morning! It must’ve had a love potion in it, Harry, _of course_ , and–”

Harry brightens as Zayn stands. “Then Niall likes you too! That’s why he sent it to you.”

“No, of course he doesn’t!” Zayn snaps. “Didn’t you see his face when I confessed? It was meant for _you_! Why didn’t I see it?”

Harry frowns in a pouting sort of way, like he always does when Zayn contradicts (corrects) him. Zayn couldn’t especially give less of a damn right now. His humiliation has been replaced with something that is increasingly feeling like fury.

Zayn begins stalking out of the dormitory, a fretting Harry hot on his heels.

 

* * *

 

Niall isn’t especially sure if or when he’s going to be summoned to the headmistress’ office for reprimanding. Love potions are, of course, against Hogwarts rules, though given their unsuppressable proliferation by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, they don’t tend to be an expulsion-level offense.

Nevertheless, he’s bracing himself for some sort of trouble, because Lord knows that if the professors didn’t figure out for themselves that Zayn was acting under magical influence during his display, Zayn himself will be only too happy to inform them once he puts the pieces together. Not for the first, or even the fifth time, Niall thinks about how awful his luck is that he accidentally gave a love potion to a Ravenclaw.

He’s sitting and trying to work on his homework in the common room. He continually gets interrupted by friends and acquaintances asking for all of the details about his relationship with Zayn (which he answers with reassurances that there is no such relationship), and by his own mind insistently replaying the memory of George Weasley’s completely ridiculous assertion.

 _Zayn Malik_ , Niall thinks. _In love with me, of course. Sure. Why not?_

Niall may not know Zayn very well, but he does know that a) he’s the person who everyone in the entire castle has a crush on, because b) he’s gorgeous, and c) he’s best friends with Harry, because d) they’ve known each other since they were children as a result of the fact that e) they’re both pure-bloods. So. The most beautiful person in the world, who’s also a pure-blood, is secretly in love with Niall, a boy who he’s hardly even had a full conversation with over the course of all their time at Hogwarts.

George, Niall decides while glaring at his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes, just made up the first nonsense that came into his head in an attempt to shoo off Niall’s very legitimate complaints. But Niall will not have it. As soon as a professor confronts him about his use of a love potion, he’s going to immediately blame Weasley. Hell, he’ll even offer to infiltrate the shop as a spy for McGonagall or something. Better yet, he’s going to march back down to Hogsmeade tomorrow morning and–

“Um, Niall?” a first-year asks softly. Niall looks up to see that she’s hesitantly leaning towards him from a good three steps away. “Sorry to interrupt, it’s just that–”

“It’s just that your friends and your boyfriend are causing a complete ruckus outside!” a burly fifth-year interrupts as he comes in through the common room entrance. “They’re harassing every damn Hufflepuff in the area and trying to insist that we knock on the barrels for them to let them past.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Niall says hastily.

“Well then go outside and tell them that!” the boy says, tossing his impressive arms in the air with impatience. He begins stomping to his dormitory, muttering loudly to himself. “Not got a boyfriend, he says. Caused a whole scene during lunch, motley crew of four damn boys breaking down the door out there, and he’s not got a boyfriend.”

Niall stands, thinking that he should have seen this coming. Liam and Louis wanted to talk to him about the lunch incident, of course, but he hadn’t been too keen on confessing about either his original plan to give the potion to Harry or the way in which it had spectacularly blown up in his face. As a result, he’d sequestered himself in the common room, assuming that they would take the hint and wait to talk to him until he had come back out. Zayn, however, is a bit of a surprise. Niall hadn’t thought that Zayn would speak to him ever again, much less so soon after the whole thing had happened.

Niall should have thought to wonder who the fourth boy was, but as it is, he ducks out from the common room entrance to be surprised by the sight of Harry standing alongside Zayn, Liam, and Louis. Why Harry didn't just open the door himself, Niall isn't sure—he supposes that maybe he just got caught up in the moment, as he looks a little enthused about all the drama. 

As soon as they catch sight of Niall, everyone begins talking at once. Louis shoots an annoyed look at Harry and Zayn, shouting them down to say, “ _We’re_ his best friends, _we’re_ talking to him first.”

Zayn crosses his arms. He’s faintly flushed, as Niall can mostly tell by the attractive brightness of his eyes. 

“Is that right, Niall?” Zayn demands, and hearing his name come out of Zayn’s mouth would nearly give Niall flashbacks to the disaster of this afternoon if it weren’t for the stark contrast in tone. Right now, Zayn sounds nothing but righteously furious. He couldn’t be farther from seeming besotted, and Niall feels affirmed that George was being a complete liar earlier. “Are you going to talk to them before you talk to me?”

Niall feels a surge of fresh guilt. It’s Zayn’s birthday, and because of Niall, he’s spent it being bewitched and humiliated.

“I– I need to talk to Zayn,” Niall says. “Alone.”

Louis huffs about it and looks like he’s considering arguing some more, but Liam steers him away, shooting one last concerned look at Niall over his shoulder before they disappear down the hallway. To Niall’s surprise, Zayn asks Harry to leave, too, and the latter does, albeit with visible hesitation.

“D’you want to come in?” Niall asks awkwardly after a few agonizingly silent seconds.

“No,” Zayn snaps, his arms still crossed. “I’m good out here, thanks.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Niall says. He doesn’t bother lowering his voice, knowing that most of the Hufflepuffs are in for the night and won’t be passing by them as they talk. “I’m so sorry, okay? You’ve no idea. I feel like such an idiot. I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t mean it for me,” Zayn interrupts. He’s frowning, the unhappy expression marring his otherwise flawless face. “It’s obvious you were trying to get Harry.”

Niall knows by some awful instinct that he’s blushing now. He hates how he looks when he blushes, can’t believe that on top of everything else, he’s subjecting Zayn to his skin looking all blotchy. He only lasts a second before he raises his hands to cover his face.

“It was all just stupid,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by his palms. “It was just a stupid thing that I got you caught up in. I’m so sorry, Zayn. I can’t believe I made you do those things. I know you’d never do them in real life.”

There’s a strangely long pause, but by the time curiosity makes Niall glance up, Zayn is saying, “No, I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Niall reassures him again. “And I’ll make sure everyone else knows, too. I’m going to explain to everyone what happened, I’m going to make sure they all know that it was a potion and it was my fault.”

Zayn sighs, finally letting his arms drop to his sides. “It doesn’t matter. The ones who hate me are going to run with it no matter what.”

Niall can’t help it; he gawks. As far as he knows, Zayn and Harry own this whole school. “Who _hates_ you?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Just forget about it, Niall.”

“No,” Niall says immediately. “I’m going to make this up to you, Zayn. I swear. I’ll do anything.”

Zayn looks uncomfortable suddenly, and Niall supposes that he must be embarrassed on Niall’s behalf for his groveling. Well, Niall isn’t above getting pity points toward forgiveness.

But… what _can_ he offer Zayn? What could Zayn possibly want that he doesn’t already have? It’s not like Niall can tutor him in things Zayn already knows, or give him money that Niall doesn’t have, or teach him Muggle things (hah!). Then again, he supposes on brief reflection, that last one might at least be a start.

“Listen,” he says. “Enroll in Muggle Studies for next term and I’ll make sure you get an O. I’ll do all your homework and–”

To Niall’s sincere shock, Zayn actually perks up. “You know about Muggle things?”

“Yes!” Niall latches on with relief. “I’m Muggle-born, I’m a complete expert. I’ll figure something out so that I can sit the exams for you, maybe I’ll figure out how to make some Polyjuice Potion so I can–”

“No, no, I don’t want credit for the class,” Zayn says. His eyes are lit up with excitement, and Niall finds it oddly distracting. “But you can show me Muggle art? Teach me how they make it?”

Niall stares at Zayn, bewildered. “You… want to learn about Muggle  _art_? Why?”

“Because it’s amazing!” Zayn says, his voice incredulous at Niall’s apparent inability to grasp the obvious. “I’ve heard that their paintings and photographs capture one instant perfectly, and their statues are made of all sorts of different materials, and they have this incredible thing called _graffiti_ –”

In his enthusiasm, Zayn seems to have completely forgotten about his earlier anger and embarrassment. Niall finds himself staring at Zayn’s lovely hands as they gesture about.

“And do you know what a ‘skyscraper’ is?” Zayn asks suddenly. “Because–”

“Zayn,” Niall says, grinning. Zayn stops abruptly, as if coming back to himself. “I can show you every piece of Muggle art that has ever existed.”

Zayn beams, and it’s a little like someone cast Lumos directly in Niall’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

Zayn doesn’t understand what wi-fi is, but Niall says that the Hufflepuff common room has a workaround that makes it possible to access something called the internet despite Hogwarts’ magical repulsion of Muggle technology. When Zayn asks what the internet is, Niall laughs.

“How do I explain?” he says, leaning over a silver machine and clicking away at buttons on it. “It’s like a library, but much bigger, and you can talk to people on it and read news and things like that.”

Zayn has been in the Hufflepuff common room before, but only ever with Harry. He feels oddly relieved to be here now, a few days after his birthday, if for no other reason than because at least Niall is as much the subject of odd looks as Zayn is. Undoubtedly, the fact that Zayn and Niall are sitting together on a small sofa is affirming to Niall’s fellow Hufflepuffs that they’re dating, but Zayn finds that he doesn’t care so much when he has much more interesting and exciting things to think about.

“And, of course, there’s lots of porn,” Niall adds offhandedly. He then promptly blushes, an attractive color rising in his cheeks as he realizes what he just said. If Niall does that much more, Zayn thinks he might die of embarrassment himself before he’s even had the chance to see any art.

“So this internet,” Zayn says quickly, to spare them both. “You can use it to see paintings and things?”

Niall nods, finishing clicking something with a flourish and then tilting the thing so that Zayn can see it too. He leans a little closer to Niall—he has to, to get a good angle, he decides after the fact.

“So, like, you don’t get the full experience because this is just a recreation,” Niall says. “Like an image of the image. But this is the best we can do for now. Anyway, this is sort of a classic–”

Zayn stares. He’s heard about Muggle paintings, of course, but never properly gotten to see one. The woman is sitting perfectly still, her arms folded just so, the light fabric of her dress unmoved by breath or wind or time. Her eyes remain open over long seconds, her mouth curled into a slight smile that doesn’t move a fraction. Her image has been captured absolutely, beautifully. It’s incredible.

“Every portrait is like this?” Zayn asks, without looking up. He stares with intent, taking the image in hungrily, waiting for it to shift even as he knows it won’t.

Niall chuckles a little in response, and Zayn is close enough that he can almost feel the huff of Niall’s breath. “Yeah, ’course. Thought you already knew that.”

“I know what I’ve heard,” Zayn says, still gazing with wide eyes at the colorful window-thing in front of him as a little arrow begins moving around on top of it. “But it’s hard to know what’s true or not. Once, my sister tried to prank me by telling me that Muggles can fly with giant balloons. She even tried to tell me they use fire to make them go, but I knew she had to be–”

“That–” Niall laughs again, and when he takes his fingers away from the little buttons, the arrow stops moving. “That’s actually true, Zayn. They’re called hot air balloons.”

This makes Zayn tear his eyes away from the thing, pulling back to get a good look at Niall. “Really?”

Niall’s laugh is the brightest thing Zayn’s ever heard. It’s so genuine and kind—Niall could easily be laughing at Zayn’s ignorance, but instead he’s just delightedly amused, as if Zayn has told an hilarious joke that they’re both in on. His laugh is even more distracting than the way Niall’s fingers dance so quickly over the machine in front of him.

“Here,” Niall says, and in a second, there’s a new set of images in front of them. Incredibly bright tapestries of all sorts of colors fill the machine’s window-thing. They comprise great, beautiful balloons, floating in the sky as easily as any broomstick.

“I can’t believe it,” Zayn murmurs, leaning forward once again. “And you can make anything appear on this window-thing?”

Niall seems confused for a moment, but then he laughs and tells Zayn that it’s called a screen.

“And this is a laptop,” Niall says, patting the silver affectionately. “It’s so much faster writing on this than writing with a quill, I’ll tell you that much.”

Zayn desperately wants to insist that Niall show him right away how one writes on a laptop, but having been reminded of quills makes him realize he needs to get back to his own common room and finish an essay. Reluctantly, he stands and tells Niall that he needs to go.

On the way to Ravenclaw tower, Zayn tries not to think of either the ugly smirks he’s been getting from some people over the past couple of days or the way he knows that he’s only imagining he can still feel Niall’s warm breath on his skin.

He fails on both counts.

 

* * *

“Mister Horan!” the Defense professor barks.

Niall jumps in his seat, looking up with surprise from where he had been scribbling notes for his next meeting with Zayn. It’s hard for him to keep up with Zayn’s enthusiastic interest—since their first session five months ago, they’ve formally met almost a dozen more times, and each one sees Zayn even more enthralled with the art that Niall shows him. Niall has found himself very concerned with continuing to live up to Zayn’s excitement. In his lap, an old art history textbook is propped open, and he had been glancing down to consult it occasionally as he brainstormed through the lecture.

“If you don’t start paying attention I will deduct points from Hufflepuff,” the professor says, his eyes narrowed. “Now enlighten us with a summary of your essay on the Patronus Charm.”

Niall stumbles through the rest of the class, and is unsurprised when Louis follows him out of the room with an amused smirk on his face.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Louis asks. “Styles is going to be the death of your chances for the House Cup.”

“Styles… Harry?” Niall asks in confusion. “What does Harry have to do with it?”

Louis stops mid-step and stares at Niall. A Slytherin girl who was walking behind him nearly crashes into him, tripping to a stop and then huffing angrily.

“Watch where you’re going!” she snaps, stomping around him along with the rest of the crowd of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins.

Niall has stopped as well, staring at Louis with bewilderment.

“What does Harry Styles have to do with it?” Louis asks incredulously. “What _doesn’t_ he have to do with everything when it comes to you?”

Niall wishes he could just roll his eyes and write this off as part of Louis’ usual antics, but he finds to his chagrin that Louis might have a point. It’s odd to realize how much Harry’s name felt like a non-sequitur; now that Niall hears it, he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s properly thought of Harry. Harry, who haunted Niall’s every dream not six months ago. He’s not even sure, now that he thinks about it, what color robes Harry wore in class today.

“If it didn’t have something to do with Styles, then what the hell had you so distracted?” Louis insists.

Niall shrugs, gripping the notebook in his right hand a little more tightly. Unfortunately, Louis immediately notices and snatches the notebook so fast that Niall barely has the time to yelp a protest.

Louis flips through it quickly, stepping away from Niall as he tries to grab it back.

“‘Maybe move on to America next week. Z will like _Nighthawks_?’” Louis reads loudly. “Z? Zayn Malik?”

“No!” Niall insists, pinching Louis viciously with one hand and reaching for the notebook with another. Louis twists away easily, ignoring him in favor of continuing to pore over the notes.

“So you’re… tutoring Malik… in Muggle culture?” Louis asks. “Why?”

He finally lets Niall seize the notebook back, crossing his arms even as Niall huffs with annoyance.

“Muggle art,” Niall corrects. “And did you forget the part where I gave him a roofie on his birthday in front of the entire castle?”

Louis rolls his eyes. He had had no problem with the idea of Niall attempting to use a love potion on Harry when Niall first explained what he had done. Indeed, Louis’ only objection had been that Niall hadn’t included him in the plan to begin with.

“You’re not still self-flagellating about that nonsense,” Louis insists. “And why would you Muggle tutor him because of that?”

Niall shrugs, leading the way down the hall. “That’s just what he wanted. He’s crazy for it, thinks non-magic art is amazing.”

Louis makes a thoughtful noise, which Niall pointedly ignores.

 

* * *

 

Zayn, having had a long day, can’t help but walk a little faster toward the Hufflepuff common room. The corridors are mostly empty, as dinner let out half an hour ago and most students have already made their way back to their respective dormitories.

Niall is waiting for Zayn outside of the door, and performs the baffling knock sequence to let them in as soon as Zayn arrives.

“You said we could look at more Warhol today,” Zayn reminds him as they duck inside.

“Alright, alright!” Niall laughs. “I swear, you hold me more accountable than you hold Binns.”

“’Cause I don’t care what Binns teaches,” Zayn replies, grinning. He allows himself to meet Niall’s amused eyes and hold contact for three seconds, before he looks away and toward Niall’s laptop.

He’s made a significant effort– the necessary effect of prolonged exposure– not to be obvious about his feelings around Niall. Before they started their sessions, Zayn never had to worry about Niall finding out about his crush, but since they began, he’s worked hard to try and act as normal as possible. That’s meant talking with Niall the way he talks with Harry, keeping the conversation (and his attention) focused on the art, and refraining from indulging in any overlong eye contact.

Niall, thankfully, hasn’t noticed Zayn’s efforts. He still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable around Zayn, though. Zayn notes that he seems to act differently in their sessions from the way he acts with his friends Liam and Louis when he doesn’t realize that Zayn is watching them from across the Great Hall. _Which is creepy_ , Zayn admonishes himself.  _And if he ever finds out about that, you’re never going to see him again._

In any case, while Niall laughs freely enough around Zayn, there are moments when he seems to be holding something back—lately, he’ll sometimes look at Zayn (while Zayn pretends to be too enthralled with the art to notice) as if he’s on the verge of saying something, only to remain silent. Zayn dreads the day when Niall brings himself to say whatever it is he’s trying to get at, because Zayn knows that it’s going to have something to do with Harry. The thought of Niall asking him to put in a good word with Harry is bad enough, but the thought that there might be something there, that Niall and Harry might actually find themselves to be the perfect match, is even worse.

Zayn is jolted out of his thoughts by the sight of excessively bright boxes of different colors all depicting the same woman.

“Who is that?” he asks, leaning forward. He finds himself staring, as usual with portraits, into the eyes of the subject. Though he’s become more used to the stillness of the images, it’s still hard to overcome the instinct to stare without blinking, as if by doing so, he’ll eventually catch the portrait itself in a blink.

“Marilyn Monroe,” Niall says promptly. “We’ve _got_ to show you some movies, mate.”

Niall has mentioned movies before, and given a basic description of them, but Zayn is still a little unclear on the concept.

“Where do you see them?” he asks, not allowing himself to look up from the screen.

“There’s theaters, where you can go and watch ’em on huge screens with surround sound and the like,” Niall says. “They darken the theater so you can see it all really well. But you can also just watch ’em on your laptop or a phone.”

Zayn tries desperately not to think about the idea of sitting in a darkened theater next to Niall, their bodies close, maybe even touching. Instead, he continues staring at the peach skin tones of the different iterations of Marilyn Monroe.

Finally, he turns and gives Niall a look. “And are all Muggles white, or are you just showing me the whitest art canon ever?”

Niall blushes, glancing down.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “Bad habit from school, yeah? Next time I’ll show you some Pakistani Muggle art.”

Zayn can’t stop a pleased smile from overtaking his face. “Really?”

“’Course,” Niall says, his face still flush with embarrassment.

Zayn finds himself staring, taking advantage of the fact that Niall is avoiding his gaze to appreciate the way that his artificial blond locks curl the slightest bit around his ear. They’re sitting so near each other, and Zayn has been trying to avoid the proximity these past few months, but there’s no way to see the art properly without it. Zayn can hardly breathe for how desperate he is to be closer even as he tells himself that he’s already far, far too close.

 

* * *

 

They’re coming up on NEWTs, and Niall is more than nastily exhausted enough without even having sat down for any of the exams yet, thank you very much. It’s for this reason that he ends up stomping tiredly down a passageway late one Tuesday night, having spent too many hours to count studying in the library.

The castle is quiet and dark, and if Niall gets caught out of bed at this hour he’ll be in for it. He rounds a corner, listing the proper ingredients for a Draught of Peace in his head as he walks, when he’s stopped by the sounds of unmistakeable arguing coming from the steps of Ravenclaw tower.

“Back off,” a boy says. His tone should be too low to hear, but Niall would recognize that melodic voice in an instant. He draws his wand and runs forward.

Zayn is standing at the foot of the staircase, his way up the tower blocked by a group of three students. Two of them– a couple of Ravenclaws, from what Niall can tell– have their wands drawn and held at their sides. The third, a boy in a Gryffindor tie, simply has his arms crossed over his chest.

“We just want to talk, Malik,” the Gryffindor says. “What’s wrong with that?”

Zayn doesn’t have his wand drawn, but he’s clearly gripping it in his pocket. He’s looking warily up at them, only allowing the smallest hint of anger to show on his face.

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” Zayn says simply.

“Neither am I,” Niall adds loudly. He walks forward, allowing his book bag to drop loudly on the stone floor as he half lifts his wand and comes to a stop next to Zayn.

All four of the students had jumped in response, but once they registered who was joining them, only Zayn looked worried. The students on the stairs appear to be delighted.

“Oh, good, your mudblood pet is here,” the girl on the left says.

Niall feels his stomach turn to lead. He stares stupidly, hating himself for having been caught by surprise.

Zayn finally takes out his wand at this, but the students on the stairs barely seem to register it.

“What is he, your bodyguard?” the boy on the right asks. “Gonna hide behind a Muggle? That’s pretty pathetic even for you, Malik.”

“Go away, Niall,” Zayn mutters without looking at him.

“He thinks he looks like a god, but his standards couldn’t be lower, could they?” the Gryffindor asks.

“Really?” Niall says loudly. “That’s it? You’re jealous, and that’s why you’re giving him shite?”

The students exchange looks with one another. The boy on the right shrugs.

“See how jealous I am after I’ve cursed his face off,” he says easily, and everything devolves into chaos.

 

* * *

 

By the time they’re done being chastised by McGonagall, the sun has risen and breakfast is being served in the Great Hall. Zayn’s bullies– “They are _not_ my _bullies_ ,” Zayn had insisted multiple times– are in worse trouble than Niall or Zayn, which, to Niall’s mind, makes the whole thing worth even the disapproving glares of the headmistress.

In fact, by the time they’re set free to go eat some food, Niall feels rather pleased about the whole thing—Zayn’s bullies won’t be harassing him anymore and Niall managed a series of curses that he never would’ve been able to achieve if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline coursing through his body at the time. Niall turns to share a triumphant grin with Zayn, only to see that Zayn looks furious.

They’re alone in the hallway, and Zayn stops walking and turns to face him when Niall trips to a halt.

“I told you to _go away_ ,” Zayn says without preamble. He’s glaring, and Niall realizes in the moment that Zayn is more angry now than he was even after the love potion incident. Niall honestly didn’t think that was possible.

“Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?” Zayn asks sharply. Niall, apart from the shock, starts to find himself getting angry too. Why does Zayn have to ruin a perfectly good moment?

“Erm, how about because I wasn’t gonna let those fuckers mess with you?” Niall retorts. He doesn’t bother keeping his voice down, unconcerned with whether or not they draw the attention of any students or faculty. He can feel his pulse easily pick back up the quickened pace of the fight.

“It was none of your business!” Zayn says. “You just made everything worse!”

“So you’d’ve rather I left you to fight one against three? You’d’ve been happier if no one ever found out they were giving you shite? And it was okay for them to call me a mudblood as long as I wasn’t around to hear it too, is that it?” Niall feels himself getting riled up more by the second, his voice rising. Zayn looks to be in a similar position; he’s now raking his hands through his hair with frustration, his brow furrowed.

“No!” Zayn says. “I was taking care of it on my own, okay?”

“Bullshit,” Niall says. “I don’t care what you think–”

“You’ve made that obvious enough, Niall!” Zayn yells. His voice echoes loudly against the walls, and if they haven’t already drawn attention from someone down this corridor, that probably did it. “You don’t care what I think, you don’t care what I want, you don’t care if you make me look like the biggest idiot on the planet!”

Niall stares, suddenly bewildered. What is Zayn talking about?

“All I am to you and all I’ve ever been to you is just some tool,” Zayn says. His eyes are flashing with anger, but beneath that, they look like they might be welling with something else. “These past few months, those stupid lessons—all you wanted was to get an in with Harry. I was in the way as long as I was mad at you, so you decided to _placate_ me. I’m even more pathetic than those guys thought because I don’t even have what they think I have.”

“What?” Niall says. He feels like his brain is desperately trying to catch up even as Zayn plows ahead with words that don’t make any sense.

“And then you decided that sweeping in to save Harry’s helpless best friend would be the best approach, didn’t you?” Zayn says. “Never mind what I think, never mind what I want, all you’ve ever cared about is getting in Harry Styles’ pants! The only reason I didn’t see it sooner is because I was too caught up in my own stupidity—but I see it now. Enough.”

Niall tries to rally, to argue back like he was a moment ago. It’s not true, he knows it isn’t, Zayn should know that it isn’t…

 _But should he?_ some part of Niall thinks. _How could he?_ Niall has had enough moments of reflection, whether sought out or not, to realize that if he’s being honest with himself, the person he’s been trying to impress hasn’t been Harry for almost half a year now.

But how would Zayn know that? Niall has been too embarrassed and confused to try and make his feelings clear. He’s come to enjoy his sessions with Zayn too much to risk losing them by telling Zayn something that might ruin everything.

“Zayn, I–” Niall begins. Even if it means Zayn wants to end their friendship entirely, he at least needs Zayn to know that past that day of the potion, their relationship was never about Harry.

Zayn waves a hand. He’s already looking away, mentally gone from the situation.

“Don’t,” Zayn says. “I’m tired, I need to go to sleep. I just– I just want some space. Okay?”

Niall stares. In all the times that he’s appreciated how beautiful Zayn is, he’s never experienced the revelation with this accompanying sense of loss. He feels like he’s drinking in every inch of Zayn’s face for fear that he’s never going to get to see it in quite this way again.

“Please, Zayn,” he says quietly.

Zayn is already walking away.

 

* * *

 

Zayn avoids Niall for the next three days, which is made easier by the madness of NEWTs. Harry loudly disapproves of this, and takes any chance he can get to chide Zayn about how he needs to talk to Niall. 

On the third evening of exams Zayn is starving, having had an incredibly long day of testing, and all he wants to do is eat a mountain of food and then go to sleep for twelve hours. Dinner in the Great Hall is an unappealing necessity, as it means that he can’t avoid Harry for as long as he stays to eat. 

But to Zayn’s surprise, Harry is uncharacteristically reserved tonight. He hums an acknowledgement when Zayn asks him about his own exams, but doesn’t even attempt to hound Zayn about Niall. Zayn counts himself lucky and doesn’t push it by asking what the cause of Harry’s sudden reticence is.

When they finish eating, Harry follows Zayn out of the hall and toward Ravenclaw tower. Zayn doesn’t bother asking why, assuming that Harry just wants company or is on his way to see someone else rather than go to bed. Then they round a corner to the passage at the foot of the tower steps.

A huge, blank canvas blocks the way to the staircase, nearly reaching the ceiling and easily cutting off sight of the steps. It’s propped up with magic, and around and in front of it levitate constellations of the brightest and most beautiful things that Zayn has ever seen—he recognizes some of them from his lessons with Niall as brushes and spray cans, but there are other objects that he doesn’t recognize and would love nothing more than to run to and touch and examine.

“I’m sorry,” Niall says, and Zayn is jolted from his reverie. He turns to find Niall standing a few scant feet to his left, his friends flanking him. Niall is fidgeting with his wand, glancing from Zayn to the ground and back again.

Zayn opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Niall continues.

“For a few different things,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair and then drops it self-consciously. “Firstly, I’m sorry– again– about the love potion. Erm, secondly, I’m sorry because I’ve come to realize that I wouldn’t take the love potion back for anything in the world. I think it was one of the best things ever to happen to me.”

Zayn, bewildered, stares as Niall continues. He tries to will his heart to stop beating quite so fast.

“Not just because it’s the reason why I got to know you. The thought that you might feel the same way I do– that you might’ve reacted like you did because you have the same feelings as me– it’s one of my favorite thoughts in the world,” Niall says. He glances up into Zayn’s eyes, meets their wide surprise, and drops his gaze back down again.

“Thirdly, I’m sorry that I ever made you think that any of this had anything to do with Harry. No offense, Harry,” Niall adds quickly. Zayn turns to look at Harry, standing next to him with a broad, too-proud-of-himself grin on his face. “I don’t think it was until I started to be friends with you that I realized that the things I thought I felt about Harry… they just don’t compare to how I feel about you, Zayn. Honestly, they could never compare.”

Zayn feels like he’s been stunned, his entire body frozen with tension and confusion and an overwhelming feeling that he’s desperately trying to subdue.

“I just– nothing makes me happier than being with you, Zayn.” Niall has finally stopped fidgeting, is now looking into Zayn’s eyes steadily, his own blue depths bright with feeling. “All I want to do is show you things that you love, things that make you smile and laugh that really adorable laugh. And if you don’t want to see me, I’ll never bother you again, but I– I couldn’t go without trying. Because I think I love you.”

A long moment of silence stretches between them. Everyone is perfectly still.

Zayn closes the distance to Niall in two steps. His eyes close as their lips meet, and he loses himself so thoroughly in the softness and sweetness of Niall’s mouth that Zayn feels as if he himself might be levitating.

It’s several long minutes later– or maybe it’s only a few seconds– when they finally break apart, not of their own accord, but because the celebratory fireworks that Harry has charmed over their heads prove to be a loud and blinding distraction. Liam chides Harry for using hazardous magic while Louis admires the ruckus being caused.

Zayn turns back to Niall, and ignoring the loud bangs and shouts and what sounds like McGonagall coming down the hall to give them all detention, they continue to breathlessly, finally kiss.


End file.
